


Pub, Roof, Plano, Room

by sunkissedicarus



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Burns, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Comfort, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Memory Loss, Men Crying, Multi, Nightmares, One Shot, POV Third Person Limited, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Sibling Bonding, Sleeping Together, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26457676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkissedicarus/pseuds/sunkissedicarus
Summary: "Wait... You can't remember what she looks like?"..."Just make something up!"~With a cold sweat and racing heart, Jordan awoke in the dead of night. His breathing was ragged as his eyes remained fixated on the darkness surrounding him in the room. Fear filled the desaturated blues of his irises. The nightmare he had highlighted the flaws of his psyche and only served one purpose:He couldn't remember his mom.
Relationships: Eliza "Ash" Cohen & Jordan "Thermite" Trace, Jack "Pulse" Estrada & Jordan "Thermite" Trace, Miles "Castle" Campbell/Jordan "Thermite" Trace
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	Pub, Roof, Plano, Room

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [library](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/683728) by Jack Stauber. 



> My second fanfic on Ao3, and I'm honestly so proud of this. This was primarily a vent piece before it turned into something more (a reoccurring theme it seems). I'm especially proud of how I made it past the 10k mark. 
> 
> This was heavily inspired by Jack Stauber's video "library" on YouTube
> 
> Special thanks go to my friends Mel, Sam, and Dak. I probably couldn't have finished this as efficiently as I could have without you guys. Love y'all <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Time had always been such a fickle thing.

It was the one enemy that all living things shared and feared. Time had always been the slow creeping predator whose shadow loomed overhead to cover the land of the living below. There was no way to escape it considering that with every waking moment, time continued moving. It made one older. It made good memories grow farther and farther away from one’s grasp. Yet it wasn’t necessarily a major threat in itself. There were many other things that felt more dangerous and understandably so. A vast majority of people felt a natural aversion to anything that brought them harm whether it be physical, mental, emotional, or all of the above. So much so that such things envelop the entirety of the subconscious to create a drive to survive against all odds. But time always exists in accompaniment. Time brings one closer to death. And death got everyone in the end.

Forgetting the threat of time often felt like an adequate solution in avoiding the harsh truths of what’s to come. “Live in the moment.” “Cherish the now.” That’s what they always said. Jordan Trace even found himself saying those things because he believed it. He didn’t like to look too far back or look too far forward lest he lose sight of what was around him. Inattention was a deadly state of mind that would cost lives in his line of work, and that was a price he was not willing to pay. Leaders and frontliners couldn’t afford to get distracted when there were others depending on them and looking up to them. Absentmindedness only did others a disservice. It was always better to focus on what was important in the present to ensure that everyone around him was in good standings. But in truth, he mainly stopped himself from letting his mind wander along the convoys of time because he didn’t know how to handle it. The fear of the unknown would always be innate. Now that sounded like something Six would say. Not him.

Perhaps Trace  _ did  _ let his thoughts trail off into the uncharted territory of his hippocampus today, and he didn’t notice. Had his gaze lingered for too long on the stout cylinder glass of iced whiskey in his hands? Had a question been sent his way, and he missed it? No, his hearing was fine. Doc constantly brought up the concerns of deafness when it came to dealing with explosives, and the Texan had no desire to disappoint and let those concerns ring true. Besides, he was well aware of the mellow rock music accompanying the voices of his fellow FBI SWAT operatives. What exactly the lyrics were was something that he didn’t know, but that didn’t matter too much. The sound of the rhythmic guitar brought on a sense of nostalgia he couldn’t quite place. And he liked that. It made weekly visits to the pub with his comrades all the more relaxing and natural.

“Jordan.” Suddenly hearing his name prompted the noirette to let out a quiet hum of acknowledgment escape him as he sipped at his drink. He turned his head to see who had spoken to him, primarily expecting a question to quickly follow suit. But what he was met with was the concerned ebony gaze of Miles Campbell. It took a great deal of strength for Jordan to not the light blues of his eyes to betray him and display unease. “You alright, man?” The older man’s voice was hushed in order to keep the inquiry between them. Clearly, this proved to be successful with the other two operators being none the wiser to this exchange. “You’ve been sort of… gone since we got here.” While he did keep his mannerisms toned down, Miles noticeably gestured with his hands for emphasis. And that added an unexpected weight upon how one would respond in a way to relieve all senses of worry.

Yet the first hint of a response he gave was that of a smile. It was practically second nature to do such a thing and ease any tension that came with presentations of care. For Jordan, it could’ve even been seen as a reflex hardwired into the muscles beneath the skin of his face. “Oh, come on, Papa Bear,” he casually drawled. “You worry too much. Just cause I’m listenin’ instead of doing all the talking myself don’t mean that I’m not okay.” Part of him nearly wondered who he was truly trying to convince once the words left his lips. Surely the reassurance was meant for the one before him and not himself. He nearly shook his head at these thoughts arising and attempting to undermine his resolve. Keeping up with his relaxed demeanor, the Texan placed a hand upon Miles’s shoulder. “Seriously, though. I’m fine.” A sense of genuity seeped into the added statement whether he meant to or not. But he believed it, so he had no qualms with saying it.

Dark eyes immediately searched his face for any cracks of hidden emotion lingering within the wrinkles of beige skin. However, all that came from Miles was a light sigh followed by a quiet “If you say so” that became muffled once he took a sip from his own drink. And a cathartic rush of relief washed over Jordan that nearly prompted  _ him _ to softly exhale as well. He didn’t even know why he felt so nervous. There was no reason to be after all. He’d been fine that whole day, and nothing would’ve prompted him to change that same night. 

After the short chat between him and Miles, the noirette felt more inclined to engage in conversation with the others instead of silently nursing the brown liquor in his glass. Such engagement mostly involved playful debates about the enticing insignificances filling their lives, but that was enough for Jordan. It was irreplaceable to him in his eyes. He found himself enjoying shared laughter with those he considered to be his family without any hollowness ingrained behind it.

Not that there was any in his chest to begin with. No, there was none at all. Only the enjoyment of the present would fill the space within his ribcage. Alongside his organs, of course. 

Hardly any of the ride back to the Herefordshire base registered in the man’s mind from where he was in the dark grey sedan they rode in. Jack had taken up the responsibility of driving them with Eliza joining him at the passenger side. That left Jordan sprawled out in the backseat with his head resting in Miles’s lap. Sure, it was illegal to do so, but he had full trust that Jack would get them to the base safe and sound. The ride wasn’t even a long one from what he remembered. His struggle to gauge the journey didn’t come from being intoxicated; he hardly had anything to drink that night, actually. It felt more like a thick blanket of lethargy suddenly draped itself across his body with no signs of letting up.

Everything felt dizzying. The music from the radio bounced about so obnoxiously that he felt inclined to try to ignore it instead of trying to make sense of the discordant melody. At least the visual stimuli of occasional light in the darkness felt more tolerable than the auditory ones. Miles would lightly tap on the Texan’s shoulder to gain his attention and have him look up at whatever had been entertaining on his phone. Practically everything that Jordan saw was either a picture or video off of social media showcasing dogs in their natural playful element. He couldn’t help but smile at what he’d been shown; one could never truly go wrong with observing cute animals. It only cemented his understanding of why his comrade was so fond of rescuing abused dogs whenever he got the chance.

Though arriving at the Herefordshire base was another thing that barely registered in his mind. He only noticed the journey was over when the interior of the car had been plunged into a wash of warm yellow light and the radio abruptly shut off. Audible clicks of the doors unlocking prompted him to sit up and get out with his companions. The rush of suddenly sitting up almost made him woozy to the point of wanting to lay back down. But Jordan kept up with the other three in heading inside to the respective bunk of their CTU. He recalled sharing banter with Jack while they walked to see how long it took for Eliza to notice. However, it felt like his body was on autopilot, and someone else was projecting the words being said out from his mouth. He didn’t mind this too much, though. As long as no one else noticed as they made it to their rooms, then it would be alright.

Nothing felt more enticing than the thought of going to bed at that moment, and he wasn’t one to turn in so easily for the night.

A quiet “Good Night” was exchanged between the four of them in the confines of the bunk hallway with any cheekiness having been left behind outside at the pub. Silence soon surrounded Jordan once he had closed the door behind him. He took a moment to fumble for the light switch before clear vision was granted to him once more. His room was simple like everyone else’s, and he wasn’t going to be one to ever complain about it. The ritual of dressing down to go to sleep was an ordinary one. Kicking off his shoes preceded the grabbing of the bottom hem of his shirt to pull it off and toss it aside. The chill of the nightly air penetrating the base nipped at his chest, yet he didn’t let a shudder go down his spine. Trace had nearly tripped over himself trying to take off his jeans afterwards. That was something he certainly didn’t want to have to explain in the morning.

Being free from the constraints of his clothing allowed a soft sigh to leave him. He’d have to properly freshen up in the modern, but he lacked the will to do so right now. A mad scramble for the lightswitch did not have to be made again as he simply reached behind him and plunged himself into darkness once more. The black silhouettes of his bed, dresser, and desk soon became apparent with the adjustment of his eyes to the lack of the light. Jordan’s movements to the bed felt sluggish, and him laying on the furniture was far from graceful. Near inaudible grumbles resonated in his throat as he shuffled his way under the covers. A newfound sense of comfort made quick work of lulling the noirette to sleep with the allure of balanced temperature feeling perfect. Hopefully, the slumber that followed would be just as nice and energize him for the next morning.

* * *

  
  


_ Sunlight maneuvered its way through the woven greens and browns of the oak tree’s canopy to place warm gentle kisses upon the surface of the man’s face. It felt like he had been sitting there for the entirety of that summer afternoon with a light breeze occasionally blowing by to stifle the simmering heat. His hands constantly reached down onto the short grass beneath him, prickling his palms in a way that was reminiscent of childhood freedom and recklessness. He would uproot a singular stem from the small patch of clovers in a repeated fashion that was oddly soothing to him. Brief moments were spent bringing the clover close for examination. There was a slight tilt of his head as he counted the green heart-shaped leaves adorning the top of the plant’s stalk. A frown soon replaced his neutral expression; there were only three leaves instead of four. How unlucky. _

_ Something compelled him to look up and away from the little bubble he’d confined himself to underneath the tree. There was nothing else around him as far as the eye could see aside from grassland and a lone house with a white wooden fence surrounding the entirety of the area. He should’ve known that this wasn’t right and that he shouldn’t be here. But the captivating charm of being in a place that reflected his home kept him right where he was. Nevermind the strange artificial coating the scents of nature carried or how not a single cloud passed over the sun despite seeing them distantly in the cerulean sea above. This was home; he was supposed to be here. And he would keep counting clover leaves until he got four or until something else interrupted him. Hopefully, he’d get a four-leaf clover first.  _

_ “Jordan! Mom said it’s time to come inside!” Even though the words didn’t resonate in the air, the aforementioned man still heard it in a sense. He looked over at the source of the call to see that a young woman stood on the front porch of the neutral-colored Craftsman house with the door open behind her. Still remaining close to the building allowed him an accurate view of the woman. Loose strands of espresso brown hair framed her face with a majority of the dark locks being pulled back into a high bun. It didn’t take much to know that the hazel hues of her eyes were filled with an unamused expression. Though Trace couldn’t blame her for that. It had to have been getting late, and he wouldn’t have been too fond of being in the position his sister was in at that moment. Fetching for your sibling at the request of your mother was never something enjoyable. _

_ Wait. _

_ His sister? His  _ mom?

_ This revelation felt like someone had grabbed the noirette and pulled him out of deep water. Asking how they got there didn’t even register in his mind. The only thing driving him forward was the need to be with them again. Being stunned into silence caused only his eyes to watch his sister turn around and retreat into the confines of the house. She didn’t give him the chance to say anything in return. She didn’t wait for him. She was leaving too soon. And that hurt so bad. Jordan scrambled to his feet, ignoring the sharp twinges of pain in his hands from pressing against the ground too hard. Getting up in such a haphazard manner nearly made him trip and fall face-first into the ground. Though if he had fallen, he wouldn’t have cared. He needed to catch up to her. _

_ Deep breaths heaved from his chest once he made it to the doorway, immediately placing his right hand upon the wooden rectangle. A hiss of pain escaped the Texan’s lips along with the quick withdrawal of the appendage. Gripping his wrist allowed him to realize that bandages were now tightly woven between his fingers to conceal discolored burns adorning his skin. The bandages weren’t there beforehand nor were the burns. But by God, did it hurt. After drawing his attention away from his hand, Trace looked up to examine the interior of the house. There was no sign of anyone else accompanying him aside from the grey silhouettes filling the spaces within black picture frames. He couldn’t make out any faces, but he  _ knew _ that these were people in his life. They had to be. Though squinting at the photographs didn’t provide him with any certainty in this. It only made it seem like anything distinguishing about the figures grew further and further away the longer he looked. _

_ A sudden sound igniting inside the silence of the home snapped him out of his pondering daze. It was the sound of rushing water spouting from the sink of the kitchen. “Hello?” The American called out as he stepped towards the direction of the noise. “Ma-” Hearing the door slam behind him caused a sharp yelp to rip free from the confines of his throat. From what he knew, he’d been completely alone aside from his sister visibly walking inside. The sudden auditory bombardment left his nerves frayed and exposed. Yet he didn’t want to linger on it further. Seeing whoever was in the kitchen was arguably the most important thing right now. So with every step he took, he continued forward. He felt much too afraid to look behind his shoulder at the front door anyways. It almost felt as if everything was telling him not to do so and keep moving forward. _

_ Eventually, the walls opened up into an expansive area filled with a dining table in front of him and the kitchen itself to his left. His eyes followed the interior design choices until his gaze landed upon the shorter woman at the sink, visibly washing dishes and placing them onto the rack on the counter. Straight dark hair cascaded down the white knit top she wore with the sleeves rolled up behind her elbows. His mother didn’t seem to notice that he had entered the room considering that the shawl of raven locks atop her head concealed her face. Jordan felt inclined to look for his sister, yet he found himself stuck in place. She was here. His mother was really here right in front of him back home in Texas. The chords attached to his heart were delicately strummed in a way that nearly caused a lump to build up in his throat. “Mom?” He managed to call out once more. “Is it really you?” _

_ All movement in the room seemed to come to a halt. A hand marked by fair skin gently set down a dinner plate inside the sink before reaching up to turn off the continuous stream of water. The woman still didn’t turn to face her son, taking the time to dry off her hands on the nearest towel. Waiting for her to say something or even make it apparent that she noticed him felt endless to Trace. He almost went so far as to call for her again and ensure that she had heard him. But once she set the dish towel down on the counter, she silently moved to turn towards the man as she rolled down her sleeves. The sight would’ve left him feeling overjoyed had there not been something oh so very wrong with what he saw. _

_ Her face was blank.  _

_ There was nothing on her face. There were no eyes, no nose, no mouth, nothing. The entirety of the older woman’s face was a clean slate of beige with an unnatural consistency to it. Not a hint of individuality lingered on the clear canvas that replaced her face. And Trace couldn’t move. He was stuck staring at the shell of his kin while everything collapsed around him in his peripheral vision. The dining table quickly diminished into oblivion. The kitchen island dissipated into the unknown. The scenery outside the glass back door changed into that of monochromatic hues of grey without a spark of sunshine to brighten it up. The room felt like it was growing longer and longer, and yet the space between him and his mother grew shorter and shorter. He couldn’t even speak. Any words he possibly could’ve said uncomfortably lodged themselves into his throat and tried to fill as much space as they could in his esophagus. He nearly thought he was going to die of asphyxiation. _

_ But his thoughts had no issue in manifesting themselves into the air around them. Where was his mother’s face? Why was it blank? She needed eyes. But what color were her eyes? Were they blue like his? Or were they a shade of warm brown to match the darkness of her hair? What shape were they? Were there crow’s feet or laugh lines around them? What about other wrinkles? What shape were the eyebrows above them? Did she have long eyelashes or short ones? Did her nose fit her face? Was it shaped like a button? Were there indents on the side of it from constantly needing to wear glasses? Did she even  _ wear  _ glasses? And what about her mouth? Did she have thin lips or full ones? Did she have dimples in her cheeks that made him understand the genuineness behind every smile she gave? Were there any other things in her skin that were unique to her? Did she have freckles atop her cheeks? And if she did, did she casually refer to them as angel kisses whenever he asked about them as a child? Did she have beauty marks that told of great glamour in her youth? Or did she have small scars that led to stories that satisfied his wild curiosity? But most importantly, what did she sound like? A deep voice? An airy one? Did she have the same southern drawl as him? Why didn’t he know any of this? _

_ “I don’t remember.” _

_ Everything stopped. His thoughts no longer threatened to suffocate him in the empty room. Even his mother appeared to break free from the still neutral pose of a mannequin before beginning to move. She turned away from her son, her hair obscuring her blank face once more. The older woman began to walk away from him and take the life out of the room with her. Multitudes of color peeled themselves away in waves surrounding her, only leaving more shades of grey behind. The kitchen counters, the cupboards, even the walls followed her, too. And all Jordan could do was watch her grow further and further away as he was left behind in the ashen field. He believed he could move and give chase, but he didn’t. No amount of running would be beneficial for him here. Running to her wouldn’t bring her back to him. And running away would only allow the demons lingering in this lifeless world of his subconscious to catch him then devour him whole. _

_ So he stood there, unable to do a thing. He could see her shrinking into the distant silhouette of the hills dotting the horizon. She looked so small when she was so far away. He’d only been able to gauge where she was due to the sparks of colorful light radiating off of her like a star in the night sky. But it grew harder to distinguish her from the silvery land as liquid began to cloud and blur his vision. He didn’t even have the will to raise his bandaged hands and clear his eyes. “I’m sorry.” Somehow, Jordan managed to speak. Yet he didn’t even know who he was apologizing to. “I-” The start of his following remark fumbled over itself into a torrent of choked stuttering. “I-I don’t remember. I  _ can’t  _ remember.” In the vastness of this empty realm, the statement continued to echo around him: _

_ “I can’t remember.” _

  
  


* * *

  
  


Beads of cold sweat trailed down the operator’s temples as his eyes shot open. For a moment, he had no idea of where he was. Everything was dark, and his chest constantly brushed up against the fleece blanket with every quick breath he took. It felt as if he still needed to fight for air in that dreamscape of colorless lands and suffocating thoughts. But once the cold air of the room hit his face, Jordan realized where he was. He was in his respective room at the base in Herefordshire. Not in the United States of America. Certainly not in Plano, Texas. In England. 

His first instinct was to see what time it was. He hadn’t woken up in a natural manner, so it had to have been in the dead of night. Shifting into a seated position, bandaged hands immediately moved to rub at his face and push back loose strands of dark hair. Bits of unkempt stubble pricked at the exposed flesh that the dressing could not protect. It made the noirette briefly wonder about his appearance. He felt like shit, and his face had to have reflected that. His hair had grown over these past few weeks. Maybe he needed to get a haircut and to shave down his beard on top of that. An audible groan left his lips. Returning to sleep sounded so enticing, but he knew that he couldn’t. He didn’t want to fall back into slumber lest he return to the greyish nightmare he had experienced moments prior.

With the blanket being shrugged off to rest at his waist, the man’s attention looked to his left at where the nightstand was. It took him several seconds for the hazy shadows to solidify into specific shapes and outlines. He reached over at the bedside table with his right hand, fumbling at the wooden surface for his phone. All Trace felt was an empty space cold to the touch in front of his bandages. How could he not find it? There was no other place the device would be. With a growing frustration, he shifted his body to have his knees on the bed and gain a better reach. Audible taps of a hand against lacquered lumber filled the stillness of the room without the satisfaction of obtaining what was desired. It took a great deal of strength to not swear to himself with a grievance fueled by fatigue. A reach larger than previous attempts did allow his fingertips to find the smooth material of his cellphone. However-

_ THUNK! _

Just how close he was to the edge of the bed had been horribly gauged, and such poor judgment left him tumbling to the floor with the blanket tangled between his legs. Unfortunately, the first thing to hit the floor was his face before the rest of his body followed suit. Nothing could have stopped the flurry of profanities from escaping him this time. “Fuckin’ hell…” Jordan hissed through his teeth, pushing himself up into a seated position. The back of his left hand was used to rub at the pain in his forehead while his right grabbed the form of his phone. At least he could see it now even if it had fallen with him. Part of him wanted to scorn the dastardly device for giving him so much trouble, but he supposed that finding it now was better than finding it later. 

Amidst the glaring brightness of the lockscreen was the digital clock displaying “3:01 AM” in a neat font that had the date accompanying it underneath. It was early, much too early to be up and about. But if he hadn’t already felt awake, he surely was now after having his face abruptly kiss the hard floor beneath him. Though the pain long subsided, a soft sigh caused his shoulders to slump. Deeply rooted apprehension filled every action the noirette took in unlocking his phone then sifting through his photo gallery. The fact that the amnesiac haze he’d been trapped in during his nightmare hadn’t left him was greatly unsettling. Plethoras of color blended into each other in the multitude of minuscule squares as a finger constantly glided from the bottom to the top. Each square held some sort of memory that he was incredibly fond of—most of them included the other three accompanying him as the FBI SWAT in Team Rainbow. But that was not what he was looking for. Not right now.

At the near bottom of the gallery, the man found what he had been looking for and tapped on the photo. His phone magnified the image along with bordering it in black. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth when his eyes fell upon the picture. It was a snapshotted moment of him, his sister, and his mother several years ago on his sister’s birthday. Normally, Trace would’ve taken the memory in its entirety, but instead, he focused on the face of his mother. And he was blessed with the sight of a smiling face framed by ebony locks. There were crinkles lining downturned eyes a shade of dazzling blue; he must’ve had his mother’s eyes. He couldn’t see any dimples indenting her cheeks, but he did catch a beauty mark beneath her right eye. Such a thing must have been a topic of conversation in the past. Though again, he couldn’t recall.  _ At least you know what she looks like now. You look like her more than anything.  _ The operator forced himself to smile a bit more upon letting these thoughts fill his headspace. 

Yet attempts to lighten his mood were incredibly futile. No amount of reassurance could have softened the blow of crushing despair that hit his chest. Jordan couldn’t recollect other aspects about the older woman without any certainty despite gazing at the photo for so long. He didn’t even realize how much that the bright light had hurt his eyes until the screen shut itself off, plunging him in darkness. It felt like a wakeup call to get moving. Sleep deprivation was something that could be shrugged off. He needed to get out of his room; he needed fresh air. After bringing himself into a standing position, he flicked the lights on and approached his dresser. A pair of gym shorts, a grey hoodie, and sandals would do for now. He couldn’t be out and about in just his boxers as much as twinges of apathy made him feel inclined to.

Several things were taken with him before he exited his room. His phone, a roll of bandages, a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter now occupied the large front pocket of his phone. He didn’t know how long he’d be out, but one could never be too sure. Though opening the door and walking out into the hall alone sent unforeseen shudders down the Texan’s spine. He nearly believed that maybe he shouldn't be out here. That he should return to his room and go back to bed. However, the aura of the sleeping base felt more welcoming than the pool of misery filling his bunk. So he continued onward, beginning to use his phone as a flashlight lest he trip or hit anything in his way. Causing a ruckus at this hour would only be rubbing salt into the wound at this point. And he held no intent of tempting fate to see which operators would approach him at any noise. Most weren’t too keen of that. 

Eventually, Trace’s legs had carried him to the base’s rooftop. Prying open the heavy door would always be a struggle, but at least up here, he had fresh air and no one to bother. His phone and its flashlight were subsequently shut off now that he had moonbeams and starlight to illuminate the area around him. Deep inhales caused his chest to rise as he approached the railing of the roof. The noirette remained careful in lowering himself into a seated position with his legs hanging off the edge and his arms resting on the lowermost bar of the iron railing. Wisps of chill tried to seep through his hoodie sleeves, but he didn’t care too much about any cold kisses from the metal. His eyes were mainly focused ahead to the buildings of Herefordshire rolling outwards into the distance that he couldn’t distinguish. Cities always looked nicer with the lights contrasting against the darkness of night.

With a sigh, his arms reached into the confines of his pocket to retrieve the items he’d taken with him. The lack of an apparent breeze weaving through the air left the man feeling more confident in setting them down on the ground beside him. Hardly any attention was given to the roll of bandages upon pulling them out; he felt more prompted to get a cigarette. The box hadn’t even been opened yet. From what he knew, he had to have gotten it not too long ago. Normally, he’d just give it to someone else instead of keeping it for himself. Jordan believed that he already had enough hazardous materials and the like bombarding his body whenever he worked. Going out for a smoke would never become a consistent occurrence for him. This was just a one time thing. He needed to soothe his nerves and with being alone in this moment, he had nothing else to turn towards. Waking someone up or loitering around the interior of the base hadn’t been an option. Though mulling over that thought after thinking it made him realize just how horrible that sounded.

Audible clicks of the lighter filled the silence of the air as he waited for the minuscule flame to reveal itself. A single cigarette was being held in between Trace’s teeth with his right thumb drawing over the grooved cog of the lighter. Soon, a droplet of fire manifested itself before him, and it was gingerly brought up to the white end of the cigarette. The flame lightly grazed the material before making it shrivel and wilt into shards of burning orange. Not a second longer did the orange blaze stay as he withdrew his finger and placed the lighter into his pocket. A dull sense of calm slowly came after him once his left arm hung over the low rail and his right hand held the cigarette between his middle and index finger. Taking a deep breath with it in his mouth nearly made the back of his throat itch but not in an irritating way. He removed the cigarette from between his teeth, allowing a plume of smoke to leave his lips and take the itching feeling with it.

“Never took you for a smoker.”

One would’ve been startled by the sudden arrival of another voice. And part of the Texan had, in fact, been alarmed by someone joining him on the roof. But upon glancing over his shoulder, any sense of astonishment or worry dissipated quicker than the smoke he blew out. Standing at the door to the base’s stairwell was his good friend Eliza Cohen. She appeared to be dressed as casually as him, donning a pair of sweatpants and a tank top with her hair loosely braided like it always was. Jordan turned his head back towards the city of Herefordshire, but he did scooch over to give her some space to sit beside him between the vertical rods of railing around his legs. “I’m not a smoker, ‘Liza.” His words were cut short by another drag of the cigarette. However, he remained mindful in blowing the smoke away to his left since the woman had walked up to sit down beside him at his right. “You could’ve fooled me with that stick in your mouth,” she lightly replied, taking the roll of bandages into her hands upon noticing it. He’d nearly forgotten about that.

Though the redhead’s reply merely earned her an eye roll from the older man. “Why’re you up anyways?” While his voice did hold some annoyance in it, it wasn’t genuine. There was no intent of genuinely shooing her off and staying alone up here. He would always accept her company, even if a pause meandered its way into their conversation. “I was working.” Eliza finally replied with her own optics looking out at the city lights. Her response had caught Trace by surprise, prompting him to begin coughing after another inhale. Pure disbelief filled the blue eyes now gazing her way. “You? Workin’? This late and wearin’ that?” He held his cigarette pinched between his fingers as a chuckle started to feel his words. “Sorry but there ain’t ever been a day where you haven’t finished everything on time.”

A huff of protest nearly escaped him as a quick swipe from the other’s free hand snatched the cigarette. “Well, you’re right about that.” Cohen promptly extinguished the embers on the concrete beneath them. “I wasn’t working.” She flicked the cigarette off the side of the roof without so much as a hint as to when it’d hit the ground below. Needless to say, it was gone for good. And he had hardly got to use it. “I got up because I heard you wake up. Followed you up here once I heard your door open.” An unusual softness filled her voice. It made Jordan nervous and borderline guilty for waking her up. He hesitantly met her gaze as her hands took his to slowly peel away the bandages currently wrapping them. The skin beneath them was horribly disfigured, discolored, any word carrying a negative connotation that began with “-dis” really. He’d like to believe that he was used to how the burns look and how they ached, but he wasn’t. The pain always lingered. “What’s going on, Jordan? I saw how off you were at the pub. And before you ask, Miles told me.” 

Nothing could have shielded him from the tawny brown eyes locked onto his face. It wasn’t that Eliza was angry or disappointed, no. It was the fact that so much worry and concern filled the warm hues of her irises to the brim. He hardly ever saw the tenacious woman with such an expression adorning her face. And that terrified him. His faltering resolve seemed to show on his features because eventually, she looked away to continue with tending to the burns on his hands. Jordan couldn’t help but briefly glance down and watch. There was something cathartic in the way his friend moved so carefully in removing the worn bandages and replacing them with fresh ones. He assumed that this was due to the contrast between how she was so bold and brash on the field. Though now he could formulate a reply to her question.

“Just tired, I s’ppose.”

“Have you been training too hard?”

  
  
“Don’t think so.”

“And right now?”

“Bad dream.”

“About?”

“...Stuff.”

One movement that was a bit sharper than the rest sent a surge of fire through the veins in his left hand all the way up to his forearm, causing a hiss of pain to sift through his teeth. The woman uttered a small apology before withdrawing her hands entirely. “There. I’m done.” Eliza’s eyes seemed to follow the way he briefly looked over the bandaging. Her handiwork _ had _ always been neater than his somehow. “You were saying?” Twinges of apprehension trickled into her voice; a feeling that was a rarity Jordan or really anyone else seldom saw. It nearly made him wonder if tugging too hard on the bandages was intentional so he'd reconsider the stale answer he had provided. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if such a thought had been right. Deflecting her words and worries currently felt like a task he lacked the willpower to accomplish. So he managed to ignore the desire to dig his heels in like a donkey and give her a better response. “It was about my mom. And my sister.”

Peeling his eyes from his scarred hands, the noirette looked back up to gauge his companion’s expression and what she might say. All he could see was that gentle warmth radiating from the bronze tones of her irises accompanied by an ever so slight nod. She was encouraging him to keep speaking with a calm silence. In truth, Trace had wanted her to say something. Simple questions like the ones she asked moments prior would have been enough for him or even a single word of acknowledgment. But no. She gave him full reigns of their conversation and their night. He could change the subject and cause their replies to go in circles to the point of exhaustion. Or he could merely say nothing else. Turn away and shut Cohen out completely then return to his room alone. None of these choices felt right. It was almost as if whatever he chose, he was slowing his pace and allowing a demon to nip at his heels and drag him under before devouring him whole.

Cool twinkles of moonlight found their way into the redhead’s eyes. This detail was what let the older man know that he had to have been staring for far too long, despite how she didn’t even say a word. The orange inferno that occupied the windows to her souls had been dulled to the gentle glow of embers filling the hearth of a home. Her full attention was given to him in the way she turned her torso to face him, going so far as to bring up and bend her left leg to feel more comfortable. A lump of coal had to be swallowed down. It was the opposite of the connotations surrounding Eliza; it was a bitterness that fought back and chafed against his tongue. Yet he still felt compelled to continue. “We were back home. In Texas. I was sitting outside when my sister told me that my mom wanted me inside. That’s when I knew something was up. That I remembered that they were…”

_ Dead.  _ Cohen’s eyebrows had twitched upwards as he trailed off. It didn’t take much to know that the both of them had finished the sentences off in their heads. But why? Why did he keep talking? “I tried to catch up to her, but she was jus’ too fast for me. By the time I had gotten to the door, she was gone.” The man didn’t want to talk about this. He didn’t want to talk about it all. “Everything about the house was off. Tried to look around then I heard the kitchen sink. I knew my mom was there.” Vomit. It felt like his body was puking these words up, and he couldn’t do anything about it. “So I go there as fast as I can. And I see her standing there, washing dishes like she used so. I call out to her and-” Jordan mustered enough courage to genuinely turn and face Eliza the way she faced him. “Her face was  _ gone _ . I couldn’ remember  _ anything _ about her. I couldn’t remember her voice, her laugh,  _ nothing _ . Then she turned and walked away and took the world with her and-”

A pair of arms had found their way around his back and pulled him close. Cohen had suddenly pulled her friend into a tight embrace, allowing his forehead to rest at the space in between her neck and shoulder. She let her arms remain where they were with not an ounce of intent in letting go. The act of it all had caught the Texan off guard. His own arms stayed at his sides with his blue eyes finding nothing but the ivory tones concealing her collarbone. He could feel how she moved to have her cheek rest against the top of his head and how steady her breathing was compared to him. The redhead was  _ hugging _ him with an intense ferocity and sense of care unmatched by the tenacity she exhibited on the field. She was holding him. A blurry haze had quickly begun to accumulate in a thick film obscuring his gaze. Had it really been so long since he’d even allowed himself to be nothing but bare bones?  _ It has been. He _ thought to himself.  _ It really has been a very long time. _

And that’s when Jordan Trace broke. 

Floodgates he didn’t know he’d been maintained shattered instantaneously. The noirette wrapped his arms around his friend’s waist in fear that if he let her go, he’d fall and never get back up again. He could feel his body be wracked with choked sobs, but Eliza continued to soundlessly hold him close to her. Part of him wanted to apologize for soaking her skin with tears, yet he couldn’t formulate any words. The only thing that escaped his lips were sharp inhales, painful outcries, and incoherent blabbers about he couldn’t remember anything. And Jordan could hardly  _ breathe. _ The weight of everything couldn’t have been this heavy. Yet he couldn’t even think about that. Nothing was thought of in an understandable manner. The only thing keeping him from losing himself and passing out from hyperventilated weeping was the soft hand of Cohen rubbing circles into his back.

“It’s okay.” Her words were so faint that for a moment, he thought that he imagined it. Time… her voice... none of it felt real. But they were. They were still here. They were still sitting on the roof of that dastardly grim base in a night that existed as the fine line between too cold and just right. And Trace hadn’t moved an inch from where he was within the redhead’s arms. Just how long he’d been in her embrace, he had no clue. But it’d been long enough to the point of where the reservoirs between his sorrowful gaze had emptied themselves, leaving him with painful eyes and ragged breaths. The noirette couldn’t tell what hurt most when every fiber of his being from the inside out ached. ‘It’s–” A hiccup interrupted his reply. “It’s  _ not _ .” Such disapproval prompted him to ever so slightly squirm away from the warmth wafting off of Cohen and sit up straight before her once more.

No attempt had been made to keep him close against her chest. She let him go with molten copper eyes watching every single move he made. No other emotions aside from concern, worry, and fondness filled those brown hues from what the Texan could see. “She was my  _ mom _ , ‘Liza.” His own voice had grown hoarse and quieter than he’d ever spoken before. “You don't ever forget your mom. Ever. But I  _ did _ . Forgot her face, her laugh, her  _ everything _ . I had to look at a picture just to remember.” More tears would’ve certainly started flowing down his cheeks had the contents of his tear ducts been devoid of liquid. That hollowness practically threatened to eat him up from the inside out. He knew that it started with his heart, then his lungs, then everything else. And it was hard to determine that this feeling hurt when the spaces behind the shields of skin and flesh were desolated.

A pair of pale hands found their way to the older man’s cheeks as Cohen began to wipe away any lingering tears away with her thumbs. The methodical dragging of the appendage felt so gentle and so soothing despite how callouses decorated the surface of beige skin after years of action and combat. “You’re wrong, you know.” She managed to retain the usual snarky bite her comments contained while still making it sound more reassuring than anything else Jordan had heard that night. “If you’re anything like your mom, then you’d never forget her, even if you think you did. You’re way too stubborn to forget anything that important or be forgotten either.” Once she believed that his cheeks had been dried enough, the younger woman withdrew them to instead hold his hands again. She was primarily doing so to keep him grounded to the conversation and to what was going on around them. It was quite effective in his eyes, especially when she went so far as to lightly rub against the thin flesh. “You… don’t have to act like everything’s fine, Jordan. I know it’s not, and no one expects that from anyone either, including you.”

Part of the aforementioned operator wanted to bite back with some sort of rebuttal. Brandish brazen bullhorns and push the truth in her reply away from him. But he didn’t. The noirette stayed silent, waiting for more words to fly off her tongue. He knew that there was more that she wanted to say; she just had that look on her face. “You can always talk to us. We know that losing your mom and your sister was… hard.” Caution laced Eliza’s tone, evident in the way the subconscious movement of her thumbs slowed down. “No one wants you to be… ‘normal’ all of the time when that’s not realistic. I don’t want that from you. Jack doesn’t want them from you. And we both know that Miles sure as well doesn’t want that either.” As she continued to speak, informality began to overcome her hesitation. It caused the hands of guilt to pull at his heartstrings because he knew what that meant. It meant that she was truly being genuine when speaking to him and exposing that eternal flame behind her ribcage and the stoney front she always exhibited.

“I’m sorr–” Those calloused hands holding his burned ones pulled him towards her into another embrace. This was different from when Cohen held him moments ago. There was something profound about it that made Jordan simply accept it and loosely wrap his arms around her waist. “No, no. Don’t be.” With his chin resting on her shoulder, her voice softened to a volume barely above a whisper. “I should’ve done better to be there for you.” Apologies from the Israeli were practically a foreign concept to most within Team Rainbow. Yet remorse and regret seeped into those words spoken into his ear. “We’re not just teammates. We’re  _ family. _ You’re like–” A pause halted her statement before she shook her head above his shoulder. “No. You are my brother, even if we’re not blood.” Hearing this from her only made the Texan realize just how much she did care about him, urging him to hug her tighter. His sister couldn’t ever be replaced but neither could Eliza. She had an affinity for always being right, as annoying as that may be.

So they sat there in a tender hug with their legs haphazardly resting near or off the edge of the rooftop. The nightly didn’t feel so cold anymore nor did it feel so foreboding with the clouds disrupting the moon’s frosted smiles. But the momentary silence between them was cast aside as Cohen spoke up once more. “I’ll sleep in your room tonight,” she murmured. “Only if you want me to.” Mentioning his bunk prompted another realization of how exhausted Trace felt. The entirety of his felt heavy with a dull ache weaving its way through every bit of muscle beneath his skin. His eyes and throat hurt more than anything else with that dry itch coating them. “Yeah.” His own response had been just as, if not quieter than hers. So much so that he had to clear his throat. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

This time, Eliza pulled away from him first. The movement in itself was slow as if she were waiting for some form of protest to arise. Instead, the noirette allowed her to withdraw her legs from the edge and rise to her feet. She even went so far as to lightly grab his hand and pull him up with her. Any sensitivity in the heavy scars paled in comparison to the weight of genuinely standing up again after so long. He gave her a nod of reassurance in reference to the slight wobble in his legs. There was an unspoken conversation between them with how comforting glances and placing a hand on the small of their back were exchanged. It had nearly been enough to make him momentarily forget the fatigue plaguing his muscles. Clearly, this was noticeable considering that the redhead picked up her pace ever so slightly to open the door for the both of them. Speaking out about it did cross his mind, but he let it be. There wasn’t enough strength in him to ruffle her feathers now.

A fuzzy yellow glow reminiscent of white butter emanating from the lights within the stairwell contrasted against the cool tones of a moonlit night. He couldn’t recall the fluorescent lightbulb being on when he had initially walked up the stairs, but there were a plethora of explanations for that on top of the drunken haze that guided him earlier. Eliza must’ve turned them on, that’s all. She led the way down the perpendicular chunks of stairs, occasionally throwing a glance over her shoulder back towards Jordan. Perhaps she was doing so to ensure she was prepared for the rare chance that he’d fall. Not that he believed nor felt that this would happen; he had been using the railings the moment that they had entered the stairwell. Doing so felt incredibly rhythmic to the point of where he had nearly missed the hushed whispers arising below them. Furrowed brows of confusion were initially sent into the back of the younger woman’s head, but she didn’t seem to be alarmed by it like him. As soon as the voices grew louder in volume to their approach, he peered over the railing to his left to see the source of the sound.

“What… are you guys doing here?”

All hints of quiet conversation abruptly stopped the moment his call entered the air. Sitting at the bottom of the stairwell was the other half of the FBI SWAT occupying Team Rainbow: Jack Estrada and Miles Campbell. The both of them were dressed down in similar attire meant for sleep such as a t-shirt and sweatpants. “Well-” Jack began, straightening up his posture before his fellow defender chimed in. “We were worried about you.” Miles continued on with a calm tone as he stood up with a light nudge to his friend’s shoulder. “We saw you leave and go up to the rooftop, but Eliza told us to wait for you guys here.” His dark eyes watched the pair of attackers walk down the remainder of the stairs to join them.

Glances from startling blue eyes were sent to three around him as all movement came to a halt. “You–” One of Trace’s hands began subconsciously rubbing at the adjacent wrist. “You all got up?” Pure confusion and dumbfoundedness filled every nook and cranny of his question. Surely he’d been more quiet and careful when sneaking out of his dorm. And it wasn’t like he had anything else around him either. But what served as an answer were nods from the opposing trio. “Jack got up first and told me you’d gone up the stairwell,” Eliza finally spoke up once more. The noirette expected every bit of this congregation to be her doing, but he supposed he thought wrong. A challenging glance was sent in the direction of the aforementioned man. “It’s not nice to use your gadget on a friend.” Perhaps it was the way his words lacked any true accusation or coherence, but Estrada merely shook his head at this. “I didn’t have to. It wasn’t that hard to know that something was up, Jordan.”

With each passing moment, the Texan became more acutely aware of the recent situation. He apparently hadn’t been fooling the others—or even himself—as well as he thought he did. Several days had been spent convincing himself that the tiniest bits of uncertainty and grief weren’t there in hopes of erasing the negativity entirely. It seemed like he failed, and the rubbing of his wrist transitioned to rubbing sleepiness from his eyes. “That’s the cue to go back to bed,’ Miles quipped whilst gently draping an arm across the shorter man’s shoulder. “Seriously. It’s late, and you look… awful.”  _ Like shit. _ Jordan internally corrected but refrained from voicing aloud. Instead, all he gave was compliance in the walk back to his room. More confusion nearly arose at the fact that all three of them were following him there, but he figured it to be best to not question it. It was that time of night and fatigue where cognition was vividly hindered every additional minute spent awake.

Seeing Jack open the door of his bunk and turn on the light became sudden reminders of how he had left the place in disarray with his sheets strewn over the floor and a few drawers being left open. Yet if they had said anything about it, he didn’t hear it. He supposed that getting some sleep held more important than having a tidy room. An attempt to do so would’ve been made had it not been for the steady arm still resting along his shoulders. He knew that that had been done on purpose to get him straight to bed; it was a surefire plan at that. The lights were turned off once more after the sheets were gathered from where they were off the floor and onto the bed. Then one by one, they clambered into the bed together. 

It was quite obvious that the bed was not intended for four grown adults, but they made it work. Jack had gone first to rest his back against the wall before Miles and Jordan followed suit with Eliza laying at the edge. The Texan was certain she had done so not just because she closed the door. Perhaps she had done so to easily get out in the morning while everyone else remained asleep. Not that that was uncharacteristic for the early bird that she was. These thoughts occupied the few seconds spent becoming comfortably nestled against each other underneath the covers. From where he was cuddled up against Miles’s chest, Jordan couldn’t see the other defender, but he could feel the redhead against his back. They were lucky that they were currently in the milder months of the year. The peak of summer would’ve undoubtedly broiled them alive. Though, he didn’t think he’d mind that too much. This was nice. He wouldn’t have considered moving even without the arm currently wrapped around his waist. There was something oh so incredibly comforting in being surrounded by his loved ones. Maybe it was sleep-deprived delirium.

Quiet “Goodnight”s quietly wafted up into the air sooner than the silence could properly settle. Other whispers eventually arose in the darkness of the room, most being mentions of needing to accommodate for space or accidental shoving. Not a word escaped Trace upon hearing this. Rumbles of amusement resonated in the confines of his chest but nothing more. He was listening and feeling for the stillness that began to sweep over the four of them like the very blanket they were beneath. Eliza fell asleep not too long after grumbling about his heel rubbing against her calf the wrong way; he could feel her body become motionless behind him. At that point, all the noirette did was listen to the heartbeat thundering within Campbell’s chest. It was a steady rhythm that would’ve easily lulled him to sleep any other day spent in the confines of his arms. 

Yet his eyes were wide open. Baby blue irises framed the pupils fixated on the fabric before them in hopes of searching for any patterns within the sewing. As tired as he had been moments ago, none of that feeling seemed to stay within his body upon laying down. Quite the big annoyance. Jordan desperately wanted to doze off into the land of slumber like his friends, but he just couldn’t. And he wouldn’t dare move from where he was lest he disturb everyone else and wake them like he’d done earlier that night. Several things had been tried to fall asleep. The first thing he’d done was close his eyes and breathe as deeply and smoothly as he possibly could. Another thing he tried was merely sitting still, for he had heard from somewhere that not moving at all for fifteen minutes would lull anyone to sleep. Yet nothing worked. A last resort option was eventually turned to. 

“Miles?” The whisper was just loud enough to be heard by the person in front of him. “Are you awake?” A moment of pause that followed the question preceded the consequential grunt within Campbell’s throat. The shorter man could feel the taller slightly move his head and look down. “I’m awake,” he mumbled. “What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” Multiple nods were done against Miles’s chest, which were quickly accompanied by circles being traced in the small of his back with a finger. Another pregnant pause trailed after the answer to the point Jordan thinking that his peer had fallen asleep. So he continued talking. “I… What if I go back to sleep and forget my mom again?” Finding the right words had been so difficult that he didn’t expect such a question to escape him. Maybe that was why he couldn’t fall asleep. Jack would have a logical explanation for that; something about how the body was subconsciously protecting from the monumental crisis he had experienced. 

Giving the secondary answer prompted Miles to hug the Texan closer to his chest without slowing the rhythmic circles into his back. “You won’t. Your memory is not as bad as you think it is.” Even with the fatigue seeping into his voice, the noirette could hear the dominant tone of reassurance above him. “But if by some slim chance you do, we’ll be right here. We’re not going anywhere.” A small kiss was consequently planted upon the top of Jordan’s head while the finger drawn circles changed to a palm going up and down his back. Some time had to be taken for a shaky breath to fill the cavern of his lungs as fair as they would allow. He would have certainly teared up had it not been for the long-winded sobbing he had endured atop the roof of the Herefordshire base. But it wasn’t because he was sad. No, it was because hearing those words had struck a sensitive chord.

“Jordan?”

Those few seconds of silence after hearing his name were tremendously significant. Of course. He was right. They were right. The Texan had unintentionally driven himself down a path closed off from those that he knew with walls in the form of a one-way mirror. He couldn’t see how he had been walking himself into a deathtrap of skewed perception and intrusive thoughts. And he had let that get to him. He’d let it chip away at his will before it whittled him down to piles of dust. It was his own fault for letting such a thing happen when his stubborn nature oftentimes did more than good. The difference between stubbornness and determination was that perseverance came without thorns. Yet what bothered him most was that he had pushed away those he loved. He was wrong in believing any poor expectations set upon them. He cared for them. They cared for him. Realizing this caused a sigh to leave his lips.

“I’m still up.”

“Oh. Think you can fall asleep now?”

“Yeah, I can.”

“That’s good–”

“Miles?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you. All of you.”

A kiss was then pressed against his forehead.

“I love you, too, Jordan. And so does Jack and Eliza.”

As he closed his eyes, Trace could feel the rubbing on his back begin to slow down. The decrease in pace directly affected the speed of his own cognitive ability and made the world fuzzy. That overwhelming exhaustion from crying his lungs out finally seemed to return and inhabit the space beneath his skin. He welcomed the feeling once. It was easier to be lulled to sleep when the body wanted it more than the mind. Resisting bodily functions would always be a grand mission in itself. Though Jordan didn’t care too much for that right now. He relaxed under Miles’s embrace with his heavy eyelids beginning to close. But a single thought resonated in his mind as he fell asleep.

Certain things—and people—were unforgettable. Love was unforgettable. 

He should’ve remembered that.

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr is @ssunkissed-icaruss, and I hope to start being more active with it in posting my progress on future works. At the time of posting this, there's not much on my Tumblr account, but my Ask Box is open!
> 
> You can also find me on Twitter @sunkissedicarus ^^
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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